


the kindest thing

by backdoor (symmetrophobic)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, I know, M/M, we would all like to hug seungmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/backdoor
Summary: they say that you're made up of all the little bits of everyone who's ever taken something from you. but if that were true, logically, seungmin shouldn't feel this empty all the time, then.





	the kindest thing

**Author's Note:**

> psa! i might advise against reading solely for the minsung or hyunbin
> 
> thank you uwu enjoy

“I just-…don’t feel comfortable with it. You know?”

Seungmin nods into a spoonful of broth. It’s lukewarm and bland, and he blanches slightly.

“There are things we agree on. When you like someone, you’re supposed to do things for them, right?” Jisung doesn’t seem to notice the shift in focus. “I just,” he gestures feebly. “I feel like I’ve done a lot for him. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Seungmin lies. He eats another spoon of rice, cold and lumpy in his mouth.

“He doesn’t think so,” Jisung scoffs. “He always says I’m not giving him enough. I just want the best for us, but it’s so _difficult_ sometimes, you know? He always,” his voice rises a little here, as he makes a frustrated gesture. “Sometimes I feel like he’s just thinking about himself.”

“That’s not right,” the other boy recites. He’d sort of figured out the correct answers the third time he’d heard this story almost verbatim.

“Yeah, but obviously I can’t just tell him that, he _blows up_ the moment I say something that offends him in the slightest,” the sophomore throws up his hands, really getting into the rhythm of it. “You know, taking into account the things _he_ says that offends the fuck out of me, shouldn’t he cut me a little slack?”

“He should.”

“It’s such a _nightmare_ dealing with him sometimes!”

“I’ll bet.”

Jisung slumps a little, sighing. “Why do I love him so much?”

That one, Seungmin doesn’t have the answer to, and to be perfectly honest, he isn’t all that hard pressed to find it. He _does_ know Minho’s the best – no, the _closest_ thing to society’s ideal boyfriend that Jisung’s ever had, and he loves the idea of being with Minho just as much as he loves him.

Seungmin knows the fact that it makes him feel a little sick is wrong.

He knows he should appreciate that Jisung is being honest with him.

“He’s amazing but sometimes I feel like he just wants to kill me and make it all about himself.”

Seungmin hums sympathetically and hopes it’s enough.

“Hey,” Jisung says after a moment, looking a mix of depressed and sheepish. “You have a module with Minho later, right? The communications elective?”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything for a while. “Yeah. Tomorrow afternoon.”

The air is silent with the weight of unmet expectations. Seungmin looks across the crowded university cafeteria, wondering why more people aren’t eating alone, and for a moment, the junior wonders if he’s being selfish. Then he smiles, hoping it reaches his eyes.

“I could help you talk to him.”

“Ah, you’re the _best_, Minnie. I really don’t know how you do this,” Jisung laments as he picks up his tray, before hefting his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got lessons now, see you around! Say hi to Jeonginnie for me when you see him!”

Seungmin ditches the rest of his food at the tray return, dithering there for a while as he wonders which library he should head to now, to catch up on the lecture he’d just skipped for this.

*

Seungmin’s advanced philosophy lecturer, a stout, balding European American man in his late fifties, once quoted some dead white man’s claim that there was an inherent good in every human, hanging the little housewarming placard on a nail driven into their corkboard.

He then instructed everyone in the class (all 17 of them) to laugh at it. The placard remains, or so their professor had offhandedly said, for them to understand that sometimes smart people do say very stupid things.

Seungmin never sleeps in that class. The boy who’d dozed off in the second row got the placard to his head.

“This stuff is ageing me,” the political science major admits, huddled at the library table in an old high school hoodie, trawling through a depressing paragraph on axe-men and the appropriate can’s and Kant’s.

Lia hums sympathetically, not really paying attention, the _click-click_ of her manicure against her keyboard lost in the persistent tapping of raindrops against the library windows.

*

It doesn’t make much sense to claim that there is good and evil in humans.

(That wasn’t meant to start a debate, sit down, for fuck’s sake.)

What’s good for someone is always bad for someone else, _good_ and _evil_ are probably the two most ridiculously subjective terms. If Seungmin were to reduce the cause and effect in this world down to two very basic elements of the mind, it would be selfishness and smarts.

Some people are just smart enough to know how to get what they want, and some are selfish enough to do it. Those smart and selfish enough can even get other people to do it for them. He would call this theory the Smartfish Postulate, or something as awful to memorise for suffering university students.

It’s too bad Seungmin isn’t very good at either.

“There’s just _so much_ to do this semester,” Hyunjin sighs over the buzz of the dinner crowd, brand new white Adidas sneakers squeaking against the table leg. They’re sponsored, Seungmin knows, from Hyunjin’s part-time modelling gig with them.

It’s over a meal again, Seungmin supposes he should’ve seen this coming. He likes what he’s eating this time, though, and dinners with Hyunjin are usually nice enough – back in high school, they’d run off campus together, forgoing their expensive prep schools and the watchful eye of their parents in favour of heated discussions in comic book cafes about anime, over cup noodles and cheap iced chocolates.

A tiny part of Seungmin that refuses to die would whisper that he was just maybe a little in love with Hyunjin back then. But now is now, and life moves on.

“How’s your piece for the open house coming along?” He chooses to ask, and the other boy sighs again, shaking his soft hair back as he fires a text off to someone else on a two-week-old Samsung Edge (probably also sponsored). Hyunjin is Hyunjin, no matter how much he’s changed over the years Seungmin’s known him. He’d been corralled by his parents into a business and mass communications double major, become choreographer for the dance crew, and of course, would be completely occupied at this time of the year with rehearsals on top of his part-time model contracts.

“The first day’s in less than a week and we’re barely even ready,” Hyunjin rolls his perfect doe eyes, lined a little tonight so they sparkle in the soft evening light. His food’s barely been touched - he hasn’t been able to put his phone down all meal. His brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t look at Seungmin. “Don’t you have any club stuff to prepare for?”

“Not really,” Seungmin admits, realising how lame that sounds only after he’s said it. Sure, he’s in a couple of university clubs, but never in a position important enough to actually have to _do_ big things during events (and Hyunjin knows that, doesn’t he?). He pauses, waiting for Hyunjin to reply, and continuing when he doesn’t. “So, how’s lessons?”

“Same old, a ton of deadlines within the first two months of school and slacker groupmates,” Hyunjin glances up for a moment, looking dispirited. “Sometimes I’d just gone the single degree track like you, it’d be so much easier for me.”

Seungmin doesn’t know why that makes him feel smaller inside than he already does. He chalks it up to a shitty day of lessons and poor diet.

“Most of the committee ask me how I do it all the time, with work on the side,” the other boy rolls his eyes, holding up a hand, before it goes right back to his phone. “As if I’m actually doing anything right, you know?”

The younger boy remains silent. Hyunjin is easily one of the most popular boys in school, with a pretty solid GPA to boot – he’d probably had to pencil in an appointment to have dinner with his best friend, if Seungmin can call himself that anymore.

“We should hang out again sometime,” Seungmin ends up offering, after a pause. “All of us, with Jeongin and ‘Lixie again, you know?”

“Oh,” Hyunjin’s brow creases a little, still looking at his phone. “Uh, sure? Maybe after this month? Let me know when you plan something, but if I can’t make it then you guys go ahead. I’m going to be pretty busy, Changbin’s gigs are starting soon.”

Seungmin wonders mutely when that’d become a thing, wonders if Hyunjin remembers the multitude of texts he’d sent just six months ago hinting for Seungmin to introduce him to Jisung’s roommate, the one with the cool, calm voice and a couple thousand followers on his Instagram account for his rap covers.

He wonders if Hyunjin would still have dinner with him if not for that.

“_Ah_, right,” the other boy sighs all of a sudden, finally looking up from his phone, cupping one side of his perfect face in his hand. “We’ve got that pair essay due for the sociology elective next Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah, that one,” Seungmin’s mildly relieved to be onto something else. It’s their second year taking electives together despite reading different degrees, though Hyunjin usually stops going for lessons about a quarter into the semester. “So, do you want to meet sometime later this week to discuss it? Or we could do it now?”

“Sorry, I’ve got union meetings on tonight and Friday night, and a meeting for my other society tomorrow, plus logistics prep over the weekend,” Hyunjin says apologetically, worrying his plush lower lip in his teeth, looking so upset for a moment. “And…recruitment starts next Monday, so…I’m _really_ sorry, I know it’s not an excuse…”

Seungmin sits silently for a moment, fully aware of what he’s expected to say.

“You’re free right? No club stuff? And you’re so _good_ at all that essay stuff, I’ll probably just mess it up.”

The pause stretches on momentarily. Then Seungmin nods, looking up with a smile. “Yeah. I can get started on it, I’ll share the document online,” he pauses. “You can come in and check it, add on, I guess.”

“Ah, you’re the _best_, Minnie,” Hyunjin sighs in relief, starting to shove his stuff into his bag. “I’m just so busy around this time, but I promise I’ll make up for it later!”

“Your meeting starts soon?” Seungmin asks, watching Hyunjin pack, food still half-eaten.

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta be there a little earlier to prepare,” the older boy stands with his bag, laughing as he takes his tray. “Have fun later, uhm,” he waves to someone else, distracted for a moment. “Doing work! See you next Tuesday!”

He disappears quickly into the dinner crowd, latching onto someone with a bright smile. Seungmin takes his time gathering his things, though, before lifting his own tray to return it.

It’s okay, he’s always preferred doing things on his own, anyway.

*

“Oh, hey.”

_Fuck_, Seungmin cusses his luck out inwardly, rearranging his bag on his lap and barely bothering with a smile. “Hey Changbin-hyung.”

The music production major doesn’t sit as much as he thumps down gracelessly next to Seungmin on the bus, knee digging uncomfortably into his. “So, did you talk to him?”

It takes Seungmin a moment to process this statement. You can’t blame him – he’s had practice with this routine, sure, but at least the others had bothered with small talk first.

“You mean Hyunjin?”

“No, I meant the president of the chess club,” Changbin rolls his eyes, leaning back against the seat. He’s wearing one of those muscle tees again, clearly fresh out from a trip to the gym. “Yeah, who else do we both know.”

_Your roommate and his bitchy boyfriend? The leader of your little edgy rapper troop? Our friend, who's been hopelessly crushing on you since fucking high school? _

“He’s been busy,” Seungmin says, trying not to sound testy. He’d stayed up till five last night fleshing out the bulk of the essay while he had the drive to do it, strangely determined to get a good grade on this one. It’s his bad sleep patterns that are going to be the end of him, really. He’s getting irritable at just about _anyone_. “Really busy. Hasn’t even had the time to do our project.”

“Really?” Changbin has a special manner of speaking to people which lets you know, expressly, that he does not know or give a fuck about how you feel. “He said he completed most of his assignments last night. We were texting, you know, until 2 in the morning,” he pauses, scratching his nose. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Seungmin glances out the window, watching the roadside drag by at snail’s pace. If it were anyone else, he’d wonder if they were doing this on purpose. But that would mean affording Changbin the level of emotional intelligence Seungmin usually assumes for _anyone else_, and that’s a tall (haha, tall) order to meet. He wonders if all that makes what Changbin’s doing okay, and decides that he’s not in the position to judge.

“I guess,” Seungmin checks the time, hoping he won’t miss his stop, and Changbin shrugs.

“Anyway, you haven’t asked him?” There’s a hint of impatience in his voice. He’s a busy guy, after all, with his own Soundcloud on top of the one 3RACHA shares, and collaborations with various artists already in the industry. “You guys had dinner last night, right? He told me.”

“We didn’t manage to get on the topic,” the younger boy replies curtly. It’s true. They hadn’t. Though Seungmin’s pretty sure that if he brought up anything on Changbin, Hyunjin probably would’ve dropped everything to listen to what he had to say.

“Ah,” Changbin sighs, dispirited, flicking an invisible speck of dust off his $650 knapsack, one of the ten (or twenty, Seungmin isn’t sure) he owns. “I was hoping to tell him. You know. Tonight, or something.”

_This is the fifth time you’re saying this. And you’ve never told him._

“What if he says no?”

Seungmin stares at the passing scenery, watching as tired raindrops start to fall, hitting the window and dragged backwards by inertia.

Personally, he wouldn’t be all that fussed if they just never happened, it’s not like he approved of Changbin in the first place. But really, what place does his opinion have in this matter?

Besides, thinking back to last night - maybe they deserve each other, after all.

“Sure,” Seungmin echoes, as the bus slows to a stop, and a flood of students get on. “I’ll ask him next week, when the student union’s recruitment drive is over.”

“_That’s_ more like it,” Changbin nudges him with a grin, getting Seungmin in a painful spot. “So last night, did he talk about me? Like at all?”

*

Seungmin’s bangs are dripping with rainwater, frozen fingers hurriedly texting Ryujin to _delay them, just a while longer,_ when he walks into the convenience store, grabbing a lighter from the box and placing it on the counter.

He’s fumbling with his wallet when he realises the sullen-faced girl behind the counter is asking him something, and looks up to see the questioning look on her face, finger indicating the row of cigarette packs in the glass case behind.

_Oh, this isn’t_, he wants to say. _This is for my friend’s birthday cake candles._

But then he stops. And he thinks.

And then he doesn’t.

*

Seungmin learns about cognitive dissonance in a psychology elective he takes in the first semester, the only elective he’d taken alone and the only one he really enjoyed.

It’s the state of mental discomfort experienced when one’s behaviour and actions don’t match. Like a smoker tasked to do a pamphlet on potential lung cancer risk, or an art teacher giving a talk to their students on the importance of science and technology in the current day and age.

Simply put, everyone feels stupid doing something they know isn’t what they’re supposed to do, or what they’re supposed to want.

To get rid of this discomfort, then, most people choose to do one of two things. Either they change the behaviour (_I stop saying yes when I don’t want to_) or they change their cognition.

(_I keep saying yes because I want to._)

_I want to do these things, I’m a good person and I want to help these people because it makes me feel happy_.

Except Seungmin knows that isn’t true, knows that it runs deeper than that, knows that trying to figure it out would be to unravel a ball of yarn into a thick, tangled mess going on for miles that he’ll never be able to fix himself, and it would be better to just keep quiet.

So, following through on every other stupid thing he’s done in his life, he doesn’t do either, instead teetering wistfully on the precipice of today, shoulders crushed under the weight of a hope and anxiety that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

*

“Hey, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin flinches by reflex now, looking up cautiously over his photocopied textbook annotations to see Minho standing by his table, bag over his shoulder, putting his phone down. “Did you get my message?”

“Uhm, no, sorry hyung,” Seungmin apologises, rummaging through his bag. He usually locks his phone away when he’s studying. “When’d you send it?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Minho shrugs. He’s wearing an oversized denim jacket over a white shirt and black skinnies today, decked out from top to toe in brands (none of which he’d bought himself) as per usual, beautiful, sharp features accentuated with a light touch of makeup, and Seungmin wonders who he’s going out with later. It’s certainly not Jisung, because they’re still off, as far as Seungmin knows. The older boy looks around, sunlight glancing off his perfect face, checking his phone again. “I wanted to ask you something over text, but since you’re here I guess I can just do it now.”

Seungmin automatically, politely, shifts some of his stuff aside, and Minho sits at the corner of the table, sending a message off to someone. Like Hyunjin (like most of them, actually) Minho’s always busy, always monopolised by one group of friends or another. He’s had more people confess to him through university than Seungmin has had exams – the younger boy knows this because Minho posts screenshots of some of the cheesier ones on his private Insta, along with mocking captions. “Ah,” Seungmin says, thinking about his notes and the readings he has due by tomorrow. “Or we could just…do it over text?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got nothing on until later, anyway,” Minho sets his phone down, turning the entirety of his breathtaking gaze towards Seungmin. “I just wanted to ask about Jisung.”

Seungmin lets the conversation lapse for a while. _We’ve spoken about this. I thought we resolved this._ “Yes?”

“As in,” Minho says, gesturing, as if Seungmin’s supposed to get something. “Did you talk to him?”

He looks over blankly for a moment. “We…talked about this, right hyung? I told you how he was feeling.”

“Yeah, and then I said how I felt,” the older boy replies slowly, like he’s talking to a preschooler. “And then you said you’d talk to him about it.”

“…Actually, I was under the impression you were going to talk to him yourself.”

“_Ahh_, Minnie,” Minho sounds annoyed, like he’d just confirmed his suspicions on something, shapely brows furrowing. His dark, catlike eyes flash beautifully like broken glass when he rolls them slightly, and Seungmin immediately, involuntarily, feels guilty. _It’s my fault. I should’ve talked to him. I should’ve confirmed it. Now he’s upset and it’s my fault._ “I can’t just _talk_ to him myself. So you didn’t talk to him at all? He thinks I’ve just been ignoring him?”

Seungmin bites his tongue. “Sorry. I didn’t know, hyung.”

Minho sighs, picking up his phone again, and Seungmin feels some sane voice speak out, from the back of his mind, right then. He supposes he should feel flattered that someone as charming, as lovely, as outwardly sweet and quirky and well-loved as Minho is coming to someone like him for help, and maybe he had felt that way for a while, back when Jisung and Minho first started dating.

But then was then. And now, Seungmin just feels a little tired.

“Sorry, why can’t you…talk to him yourself, again?”

The older boy glances at him, judgement flashing through his eyes momentarily, before he says, quietly, like he doesn’t want to embarrass Seungmin: “I know you’ve never dated before, Minnie, but that’s just not the way it works, okay?”

Seungmin doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he goes back to his notes instead.

“So when are you going to tell him?”

“What?”

“When are you going to talk to him?” Minho repeats. Again, some quality in his voice makes Seungmin feels involuntarily sorry for making him have to do something as taxing as repeat himself. “Tonight?”

Seungmin highlights a phrase, choosing not to look up. “Okay.”

The older boy sighs again, gathering his things. “Tell me what he says, okay Minnie?” He stands, straightening his jacket, checking his phone as he gets a call, before letting out a short, tight laugh that sounds like crystals and broken glass. “It’s so silly when people say they’ll do things and then don’t do them in the end. Don’t you hate it too? It’s so annoying.”

Then Minho leaves, telling the person on the other end that he’ll be there soon, and Seungmin picks up his phone, opening the Kakaotalk conversation with Jisung. He enters and backspaces a few messages, before finally sending one, reciting everything Minho had said when they’d spoken those few days back.

The reply comes almost instantaneously, pelting him with a bunch of questions, and Seungmin spends the next hour trying to answer him.

As usual, it ends with a _can you help me ask him? Tonight? _and Seungmin answers with a short _tomorrow_? before stowing his phone away in his bag and returning to his readings.

He doesn’t get a lot of sleep that night, as per every other night, and if he’s honest, that’s all he can care about right now.

*

It’s 11pm by the time Seungmin gets back to his room on Friday night.

Drinks with Ryujin and the rest have always been fun, drowning under the weight of their degree and enough bottles of soju that you stop being able to count. He’s never been the absolute biggest fan of getting hammered, but it’s safe to say he’s light-headed enough that it takes him more effort than usual to get his shoes off his feet.

Felix is still at his desk with the light on, legs gathered to his chest, unstyled hair falling in his face and both hands clasped around his phone, literature readings sprawled untouched across his desk. It's funny, how many other people their age there are in this hodgepodge friend group, and Felix is still the only one Seungmin actually feels comfortable with. Felix had opened his room up once Chan moved out to stay with his girlfriend after graduation, and Seungmin had grabbed at the opportunity almost immediately.

“Hey,” Seungmin says, dumping his bag by his desk, resisting the urge to dump himself on his bed. The weight of the week presses down on his eyelids, only mildly relieved by the alcohol in his system.

It was easier to stop thinking when you were wiping out a bottle of vodka with your friends. And Seungmin liked it when he stopped thinking. It made him feel lighter, like he could fly. Like he could step off the edge of a building and float away on a cloud.

“Hey Minnie,” Felix replies absent-mindedly, not looking up from his phone. Seungmin stares out the rusty window grilles for a while, into the darkness outside, overlooking the basketball court below, now shrouded in twilight.

“How was today?” He starts, almost on autopilot, by now.

Felix sighs. “Okay, I guess.”

That hangs in the air for a while, before Felix seems to realise that Seungmin isn’t replying. He looks over for a moment, then, offering a half-hearted smile. “_Lectures_, right?”

“Life is terrible,” Seungmin laughs listlessly, head still a little muddled. The lowered inhibitions are making him selfish. “Life is so awful.”

For once, Felix doesn’t seem to hear him, though, shoulders hunched forward, legs brought up on his chair. His pen is uncapped on his notes but it seems like he hasn’t touched either in a while.

The junior frowns, then, noting the crease in the other boy’s brow, and gets up unsteadily, walking over, just able to catch a glimpse of the ID Felix's texting.

“_Lix_,” he demands, and Felix jumps, straightening, like he hadn’t even noticed Seungmin walking up from behind him. "Didn't you say you were getting over him?”

“It’s fine, we’re just _talking_-…”

“Yeah, that’s what you say _every time_, and every time you just get hurt again!” Seungmin makes a grab for the phone, Felix leaning away. “He’s _not worth_ your time!”

“It doesn’t _hurt_ to just be friends-…”

“You _know_ that’s not what you want!” Seungmin doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the month past, or just _him_, just his general inability to be a good friend, that has him shouting. “But that’s the only way he’s ever going to look at you! He’s _never going to love you!_”

Felix doesn't say anything for a moment. He just looks up, eyes full of tears, lower lip trembling. 

The other boy straightens. Then he takes a step back, bile burning the back of his throat, and decisively, he walks out of the room, letting the door click shut quietly behind him, before he can make things worse.

And so Seungmin walks away, night wind blowing stiff against his face, jaw sewn shut, into the unknown of 2am, 3am, till the stars know all his secrets.

*

He wakes up to a shadow falling over his face.

Seungmin sits up, neck painfully stiff and throat itching from a night out in the freezing cold, blinking a lack of sleep out of his eyes. He’s where he’d fallen asleep last night, under a partially open sky, tucked behind one of the numerous staircases in the school, this one leading down towards the roof deck, and it’s then he sees a familiar silhouette in the early dawn light.

His heart clenches tightly in his ribcage.

Jeongin walks over, the wheels of his luggage clicking against the cracked tiles. He stops right in front of the mess of cigarette butts littering the floor around Seungmin, scuffed grey sneakers a contrast against the white and black ash.

“You’re back early,” Seungmin croaks, wincing at how terrible his voice sounds. He’d been keeping track, on the little bank-subscription table calendar on his desk - Jeongin was only supposed to come back on Monday.

“You said you quit,” the younger boy says instead. He smells of the airport when he leans over, plucking the lighter and the empty white box out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Yeah,” Seungmin recites, not quite sure what he’s saying anymore. He feels a headache coming on, probably from the alcohol last night. “I did.”

There’s silence, broken by the sound of a morning bird beginning to call. The relief floods in first, the painfully sharp happiness of finally seeing Jeongin again, but the shame hits him harder, of letting Jeongin see him like this.

People didn’t call you unwanted, disgusting, broken, these days – it wouldn’t look good on them. But they didn’t need to do that to let you know, all the same.

It was a theory Seungmin had, that having friends who believed in themselves would fool people into thinking Seungmin believed in himself, too.

People who mattered. And Jeongin mattered, more than Seungmin could ever find the words to say.

Then the younger boy sweeps the cigarettes further away with his shoe, before settling heavily by Seungmin’s side.

“Felix texted me,” he eventually says quietly. “I cabbed over from the airport after I touched down.”

“You were supposed to go home first.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really like the idea of a double rush hour cab fare.”

“Sorry,” Seungmin says stiffly, and he means it. _Sorry for being this disaster of a human being. Sorry I’m a shitty friend and a shittier boyfriend._ “So,” he starts, clearing his throat. “How was your attachment?”

Jeongin looks at him sharply, then. In the morning light, fresh out of a six-hour overnight flight, everything about him looks soft – his skin, his brown hair, even his foxy eyes, now brimming with a sharp kind of sadness. Seungmin’s heart aches from how much he’s missed this. “Hyung,” he says, voice like a rush of wind, heavy with emotion. _“_Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Things _are fine_,” the older boy says calmly, even managing a smile. He can’t imagine how he looks right now, in a crumpled, expensive button up he never wears because it reminds him of his father, new sneakers, eyes probably bloodshot and every bit of him drenched in the stench of pre-packaged lung cancer. “Really. It’s just - small things. I just,” he pauses, carefully finding the words to utter the first truth. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Who was it?” Jeongin asks, leaning in with his chin on his palm. There’s a crooked contempt he doesn’t bother to hide, now that it’s just the two of them - a familiar, painful, reassuring bitterness underlying his words, like a promise that he’s on Seungmin’s side, he’s here, and above all, he _understands_. “What’d they say?”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything for a moment, thinking about everything in its entirety and feeling his insides burn up with quiet shame at how small everything seems in retrospect, and everything he feels, even smaller.

“I’m a bad friend,” he confesses, voice trembling, staring into the shadow of the air vent against the concrete floor across the faux rooftop.

Jeongin just sighs then, a lovely, weary sound, and Seungmin feels fear for the first time this morning, wondering if he’ll get up and leave too, because this conversation’s done nothing but trouble him so far, and that’s what people do when they don’t like what they hear.

People other than Seungmin – because that’s the only thing he can change about himself now, the only thing he can control to make sure he’s different. To make sure there’s a reason for them to keep him around.

But Jeongin doesn’t. He stares across the pale green tiled floor, illuminated by the tired morning sun, for a while, before speaking quietly. “You don’t have to do what they ask you to do, hyung.”

“They never asked me,” Seungmin doesn’t know why he says it, because it makes him feel worse when he does. It’s the truth, though, and Jeongin deserves nothing less. “I told them I would.”

“Why?”

It’s not demeaning, not presumptuous, and Seungmin appreciates the sincerity in that single word, so he answers the same way.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a selfish response. Seungmin knows that much. It leaves the conversation open, obliges Jeongin to come up with an answer, doesn’t let them pack and tidy the morning away to celebrate the fact that he’s finally back. It’s a response that demands attention, and Seungmin despises that as much as he despises everyone who asks of that from him.

So he tries to end it there, take back the sincerity he’d put out between them.

“We should go-…”

“Tell me about your week.”

“What?”

Jeongin shrugs, opening a section of his bag and taking out a packet of complimentary airplane peanuts and two bottles of water, tossing one over. He makes himself comfortable, leaning against his luggage like it’s a pillow. “What happened this week? Is Changbin still being a douchebag about that confession? Are Jisung and his latest pretty boy dance bitch on or off now? Is Chan still producing or is 3RACHA truly over? Is the canteen near the mass comms building operational again, or do you still have to walk all the way down to engineering to get lunch?”

Seungmin laughs weakly, accepting the bottle and taking a drink from it, looking at the dusty patterns of ash on the ground, thinking _what the heck_. “Yeah. The canteen’s still down, because our money’s going down a drain and I guess no one cares what happens to students during lunchtime.”

He takes a deep breath, before continuing, speaking the longest he’s done so in a month.

“Chan’s actually been making good progress, it’s been difficult with Jisung and Changbin so focused on other stuff but at this rate, 3RACHA could be a solo project and he’d probably be able to carry it,” Seungmin shrugs. “Jisung and Minho are off, unless one of them decided to make a move last night that wasn’t through texting me. And yeah, Changbin did. He and Hyunjin are texting every night now, though, so I guess there’s that. I’m supposed to ask Hyunjin how he feels about Changbin once the union recruitment season’s over for him, maybe we’ll see after that,” he shrugs, chuckling again to himself. “Because fuck if I’m good for anything else, right?”

His jaw locks a little on the last sentence, chest crumpling silently under the weight of that sentiment put finally put in words. The silence hangs in the air, making the echoes of what he’d said grow louder with every second.

“That’s not true,” Jeongin says quietly.

_Then what is?_ Seungmin wants to ask. _What the fuck am I good for, exactly? _

But it’s a selfish question. And Seungmin is nothing if not full of quiet, polite spite at everyone who has ever been selfish to him.

“I’ll be a better friend,” is what he says instead, before his throat can lock up.

Jeongin watches him, dark eyes like floodlights, pouring into the chaos of Seungmin’s soul and trying to make sense of it, but not today, not right now. Maybe when Seungmin’s figured more of this out for himself, when he deserves Jeongin’s attention on this matter because he has a solution instead of just a problem.

Then the other boy leans forward, movements unpredictable as usual to everyone but Seungmin, dark brown eyes piercing through his soul, before pressing a kiss to his lips. Somewhere, his hand takes Seungmin’s, pulls it close to himself, like an anchor to a ship in a rough sea.

Seungmin’s hand tightens hesitantly, like just the slightest touch could shatter him. He leans into the kiss though, this side of him being the one he doesn’t mind not hiding – the side of him that loved Jeongin, loved him more than Seungmin knew how to put into words.

It’d always been this way, even before they started dating, from the moment Hyunjin introduced Seungmin to the friend from his agency, here in Seoul to study for a few years. It’d frightened Seungmin, at first, because he gave his all in everything, in work and in life and in love, and something about Jeongin made him want to do the same, made him want to cut his heart out and present it on a silver platter. He didn’t even know if Jeongin liked boys, if he was interested in dating or just messing around, if he believed in love the same stupid, childish way that Seungmin does.

It was what made him wrap the little bits of his heart that he presented to people in barbed wires and acid, a silent plea not to take it, because there wasn’t much of him left to give. But Jeongin gave back – poured himself into the empty chasm of Seungmin’s chest, his own special brand of veiled warnings.

To this day, Seungmin still doesn’t know everything. But he’s learning.

“We could go somewhere tonight.”

Yeah. Plans, goals, a _where next_ and _when_. Jeongin knows Seungmin needs that, needs it to get him up on his feet and moving again. Not to heal the wound, but to bandage it up enough that the bleeding stops.

“That ramen bar Jisung swears by,” Jeongin suggests. There’s a cheeky smile on his face. “Then we could go along the Han River, or visit that prawning place. You know, the one where Changbin pushed Jisung into the pond and he had to get fished out by the staff.”

Seungmin laughs again, the third time in weeks. Yeah, they all love that place.

“We could go catch up on sleep in my room first,” Jeongin continues.

“Oh,” Seungmin shakes his head, but Jeongin’s already waving him off.

“Hyunjin stayed at Changbin’s and Sungie’s place last night, they were drinking so he’s probably not going to be back until like, five,” he rolls his eyes, standing. “We’re not going to see them.”

Seungmin stands along with Jeongin, automatically gathering the trash into a napkin that’d come with the water bottles, thinking of the cleaners around the area. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“You should take my bed, hyung, I’ll crash on Hyunjinnie’s,” Jeongin hefts his knapsack on and grabs his luggage, holding out a petulant hand for Seungmin’s, before they set off for the elevator together. “You know I came back one afternoon and he and Changbin were both sitting on my bed, _studying_?” he complains. “Hyunjin just said it was because the sun was coming in on the other side and he didn’t like it – he didn’t even apologise. He can suck it.”

That makes Seungmin laugh, really laugh, the sound bouncing out around the empty building. They pass a bin, and Seungmin tosses the trash, hesitating for a moment, before he trashes the lighter too, feeling immeasurably gratified by the way Jeongin beams at the action.

“Minho still doesn’t know, by the way,” he comments, nudging the luggage handle out of Jeongin’s hand so he can take over. The thought amuses him again more than it isolates him, now that Jeongin’s back. And true enough, the other boy scoffs, some deep set, saccharine resentment resonating in his voice that he reserves only for when he’s alone with Seungmin.

“They’ll know if they ask,” he says lightly, setting a jaunty pace with both hands free now. “In the meantime, it’s funny while they don’t.”

*

(Seungmin pays a long apology call to Felix that morning after he showers, before knocking out for the next solid five hours. He doesn’t pay much attention to his phone for the rest of the day.

They end up not going to the prawning place or the ramen, instead getting distracted by a samgyetang place on the way, papered with Twice posters to lure innocent university boys like them in.

But the food is good and the company even more so, and they argue about whether Knock Knock or Dance The Night Away was better as a comeback hit until they finish, and Jeongin drags Seungmin on an excited quest to find bubble tea.

There’ll come a day, probably, when Seungmin’s jaded enough to show it when he doesn’t give a fuck, a day when Jeongin will trust Seungmin enough to tell him what’s on his mind.

But today’s a step in one of a thousand right directions, and it’s enough.)

*

“Hwang Hyunjin and Kim Seungmin?”

Seungmin nods at the professor, a little stumped by why they’re up here talking to her after the tutorial class. He’d made _sure_ that essay was at least passable, there’s no way it’d been bad enough for her to have to call them up.

“We usually don’t talk about the assignments after they’re submitted, but this essay,” she lifts the paper, nodding half to herself, glancing at them over the top of her circular rimmed glasses. “It’s an exception. It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a good argument fleshed out so well,” Seungmin’s mind floods with relief, as she looks between the two of them. “Both of you wrote it together?”

“Ah-…” Seungmin starts, about to confirm it.

“Oh no,” Hyunjin says quickly. “Seungmin did most of it, I only added some bits here and there,” he says sheepishly. “It’s really all him.”

Seungmin blinks, surprised, as the professor turns to look at him. “I thought so – two people wouldn’t be able to have such a concise opinion and present it so well. Good work, anyway,” she taps the essay on an open palm thoughtfully. “I know you’re not a student under Soci, but would you be interested in helping out under an RA post, if we ever have a project on this? It’ll be paid, etcetera, plus it’s good for the portfolio, all that.”

Seungmin’s mouth is slightly dry, _is he hearing this right_? “Sure, I mean-…yes, professor.”

“We’ll let you know,” she turns away, tucking the essay into a file. Seungmin’s mind is blank as they thank her and walk off to get their things.

“Nice work,” Hyunjin grins, as they leave the tutorial room.

“You didn’t have to say that,” Seungmin mumbles. “What if she’d deducted marks from you?”

“It’s fine, I was planning on applying for a pass/fail grade on this mod anyway, so it won’t affect me,” Hyunjin shrugs. “Wanna grab lunch?”

Feeling slightly more encouraged, Seungmin nods, pulling his bag a little higher over his shoulder. “Sure,” he takes out his phone, snorting at a picture Jisung had sent of Changbin, hungover and passed out on his bed after drinking the previous night, before he remembers something. “I need to ask you something later,” he adds. “About Changbin.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin flushes a little. “Okay,” he pauses, glancing out the window, before turning back to Seungmin, beaming. “Thanks. For always doing all this, you know.”

The other boy laughs, meaning it when he says it, this time.

“Sure. I don’t mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> a quick remix of my old league fic plot for all the stays out there fighting your own battles every day, with and for people you care about and love. if it ever feels like you're pouring yourself down a bottomless pit, remember that (1) you're not! what you're doing matters and even if no one else does, i love and appreciate you for it (2) please keep enough of yourself for tomorrow yeah!
> 
> smile lots this week and stay strong! love you guys x


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